


For the Love of (pride)

by SoManyJacks



Series: For the Love of (  ) [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Dorian finally changes out of the buckles, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, just pretend Latin is Tevene okay?, negative mention of sex workers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 14:11:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8017096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoManyJacks/pseuds/SoManyJacks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bull might know the words, but he doesn't speak the language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the Love of (pride)

The important thing is to not let it be a secret. Bull’s got plenty of secrets to juggle, and he’s not looking for any more. Plus he’s got a feeling it’d be bad for Dorian, hiding the fact they fucked.

So he brings it up the next day. “Dorian, about last night....”

Everyone around the dinner table perks up, some more obviously than others. Josephine has enough training to keep her face pointed towards her plate, but her eyes dart to the side and the corner of her mouth crooks up. Varric’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline; he looks like he’d kill a man for a bit of parchment and a quill. Cass frowns, but when does she not frown? Cadash bursts out laughing, as does Sera, jostling Solas just as he was bringing a forkful of peas up to his mouth, scattering them down across the table. Blackwall and Vivienne seem to have a contest to see who can roll their eyes the hardest, and Cullen chokes on his mead and goes beet red. Only Cole and Leliana retain their composure -- the kid probably doesn’t know what’s going on, and Red already knows, Bull is pretty sure.

Dorian groans, but Bull can see he’s fighting back a smile. They trade barbs for a minute or so, Bull reminding him that he left his smalls, and that's that. The conversation moves on and no one gives Dorian a second glance.

Dorian gives Bull a second glance though. And a third, and a fourth. Mostly confused looks, like he’s not sure what Bull’s angle is. Bull grins at him, open and friendly. Okay maybe a bit more than ‘friendly’. But it leaves Dorian with his own secret smile, blinking rapidly down at his plate.

Bull’s kinda proud of himself, actually. Coulda been awkward, but now it’s not. And there’s the added bonus of Dorian showing up at his door later that night. Not the door from the inn, but from the battlements. He’s wearing standard Inquisition mage robes, not his usual buckled outfit.

Yesterday had been slow and gentle. Today, it’s the opposite. Dorian practically launches himself at Bull the second the door is shut. Bull catches him, hoisting him under his thighs, which he wraps around Bull’s torso with a groan. Bull hisses when his hands meet bare skin under the robes.

“Fuck me,” Dorian mutters. “Maker, fuck me, Bull.”

With a growl, Bull reaches around to his ass. The growl turns to a moan when he realizes Dorian's already lubed up, prepped and ready.

Bull presses him against the wall. There’s a ledge in the stone, just a couple inches deep, but good enough for leverage. Dorian's already fumbling with the drawstring of Bull’s pants, yanking the cord loose and stroking his cock, conjuring some kind of slick as he does it. Fuck, it’s even warm.

It’s clear Dorian wants it rough, and Bull plans to give it to him, but first he eases his way in, watching Dorian's face. The look in his eyes as his body yields to Bull is breathtaking.

“Fuck,” Bull whispers. “That’s it. All the way. Open up for me.”

Dorian's already gasping, trying to move. For now Bull keeps it shallow and gentle, just rocking into him.

That all changes after a couple minutes. “Mm-more,” Dorian pants. “Give it to me.”

Bull shifts, getting a better grip on him. Dorian cries out at the change in angle, his eyes wide with shock.

“That’s the spot, eh?” Bull doesn’t wait for an answer, slamming into him.

It’s a good thing Dorian's still wearing robes, because his back would be scraped raw on the rough stone. He claws at Bull’s shoulders, almost howling as Bull fucks him.

“Fuck yeah, that's it baby,” Bull grunts. “Feels so good. So good. The way you take my cock. You like it?”

Whimpering, Dorian buries his face in the crook of Bull’s neck. “More. More -- please.” He fumbles with one hand between them, finally getting through the bunched up fabric to fist his own cock.

Bull isn’t sure if he meant more fucking or more praise, but it’s not like he’s about to stop giving Dorian either. He murmurs a steady stream of words -- in common, in Orlesian, hell, he throws in some Antivan in there. Bull doesn’t know enough Tevene to speak it, but he knows a phrase or two, so he says that, too. “Quam pulcher es, Dorian.”

Dorian's ass clenches around him, his body wracked with shudders as he comes. Bull is close, but not so close that he can’t pull out and finish somewhere else. He’s not sure if Dorian wants to deal with that, after all.

The mages is going boneless on him, shivering with aftershocks. Bull slows his pace; the way Dorian's body is quaking is getting him there, fast. “Fuck, I’m close. You want me to -”

With a sound that can only be described as a determined whimper, Dorian grips Bull tighter, moving against him. He blindly tips his face up, kissing Bull with a feverish desperation.

The sensation of Dorian's tongue sliding against his own is what puts Bull over the edge. Groaning into Dorian's mouth, he clutches his ass and fucks into him a half dozen times, hard and fast, before his orgasm hits and he bottoms out, grinding as deep as he can into Dorian.

It’s not a position that's ideal for afterglow, however. They’re both shaking as Dorian clumsily dismounts from Bull’s cock, making a beeline for the washbasin in the corner. Bull, for his part, winces as he pulls his pants up. He’s gonna feel this in his back tomorrow, that's for sure.

Bull’s already got a bottle of wine open and is pouring it into two glasses when Dorian emerges from behind the privacy screen. “Oh,” he blinks in surprise, looking at the goblet Bull’s holding out to him.

It’s Bull’s turn to be surprised. Shit, was he really going to just fuck and run? “Uh, just thought you might, you know. Want a drink.”

“I... of course,” Dorian says, tottering over to take the cup. “To what shall we toast?”

“To mage robes,” Bull grins.

Dorian laughs and clinks his goblet. “Well I thought, as long as I’m coming to retrieve my smalls, I should have a place to put them.” He sips his wine.

“Oh, right.” Bull reaches under his pillow and hands them over.

Cocking an eyebrow, Dorian pulls them on, shimmying them up under his robes. “Couldn’t find a better place to store them?”

Bull shrugs. “Old wives’ tale. Put a little of something you want under your pillow and sleep on it, you get it back in spades.”

Still looking suspicious, Dorian says “I hope you mean the sex and not my underthings. I only have so many pair, you know.”

“Damn,” Bull grins, snapping his fingers in mock disappointment. “All right, I guess I can settle for more sex.”

Dorian's just laughing now, shaking his head as he drinks his wine. They chat for a bit, have another cup, and the bell tolls ten times in the keep. “Well,” Dorian says, standing up and stretching. “I’d best get back.”

It’s not a surprise that he’s leaving, but it’s a surprise that Bull is disappointed. “You gonna leave something else? Or will you come back if I ask real nice?”

“Ooh, I like a man who’s not too proud to beg.” Smirking, Dorian saunters towards the door. “I’ll see you around, Bull.”

“See you, Dorian.”

It becomes a semi-regular thing, after that. Not every night, but often. Dorian shows up, they fuck, Bull coaxes him to stay for a drink or a sweet cake or both. The man still has his walls up, still needs the pretense of a game, but it gets easier and easier for Bull to tear those walls down. He starts buying good wine, a box or two of nice chocolates, some beeswax candles instead of the smoky tallow ones. He even airs out his sheets, sprinkles some dried lavender and sage in the corners to freshen the place up. Anything to get Dorian to stay a little longer.

And he says a few things to Sera, to Cadash, to Josephine. Grease the wheels a bit, no harm done. It’s less likely Dorian’ll get harassed now that people know he’s fucking Bull, given his own popularity. But Bull remembers how pathetic Dorian's quarters were, how carefully he counted his coins. No one deserves to live like that. Sera makes sure the maids bring him firewood and water, same as everyone else. Josie ‘finds’ some better furniture and has it set up. And Cadash casually mentions to the merchants that it wouldn’t be so good to shaft one of her crew. The way she scratches at the Carta tattoo on her cheek says it all, really.

So it’s all working out. And then Cadash takes Dorian on a trip to the Exalted Plains. He’s gone a couple weeks. Bull thinks about maybe finding someone else to liven up his bed in the meantime, but he never quite gets around to it. It has nothing to do with the fact that his sheets and pillows smell like Dorian, a scent Bull is starting to crave.

When Dorian gets back to the keep, Bull happens to be in the stables. Just a coincidence. He doesn’t help Dorian off his horse, not the way Sera does for Cadash, or the way Josephine hovers around Blackwall. “Hey, you’re back,” is what he says, and he smiles.

Dorian's eyes are very bright. “I am. Help me with my horse, would you? I strained my shoulder,” he says.

They lead the horse into a stall and Bull unsaddles it. Dorian's watching him, impatient. As soon as he’s done, Dorian pulls him into a darkened corner, a narrow storage area at the back of the barn. He pushes Bull behind a huge bale of hay.

“What about your shoulder?” Bull murmurs.

“Oh don’t give me that,” Dorian grins, hands sliding across his chest.

“What should I give you, then?”

Dorian is already sinking to his knees. He doesn’t answer, just nips at Bull’s stiffening cock underneath the fabric.

It’s quick. Quick and dirty, like the first time, and fuck is it good. Bull rests his hands on Dorian's head, watching his cock slide in and out of his mouth in the dim light. Dorian's got his cock in his hand, and when he looks up at Bull, eyes near black with lust, Bull almost loses it.

But he doesn’t, not yet. “Beautiful,” he whispers. “So beautiful. Pulcherrimus, pulcherrimus.”

Dorian stops sucking, though he works Bull’s cock with his free hand. He’s staring up at Bull, panting, almost choking on his breath as he spills.

Bull grunts quietly; he’s starting to come too. Quickly, Dorian latches on to him with his mouth, swallowing every drop.

There’s a blur of motion as Dorian stands, kisses him fast and light, and he’s gone.

He shows up later for Wicked Grace. No one is more surprised than Bull, nor more pleased, though he hides both, pulling out a chair next to him.

Varric is more than happy to deal him in. Cadash is in the middle of a story involving a shitload of undead. “Luckily we had this guy with us,” she says, nodding at Dorian.

“Necromancer extraordinaire,” he grins, throwing a few coins into the pot.

“Must say, Sparkler, you’ve been looking good lately,” Varric notes.

Sera snickers. “Falling outta trees is good for ‘im.”

Dorian rolls his eyes. “I always look good, Varric.”

“No, you look rested. And less stressed out. It’s good, I like it. Especially the part where you’re relaxed enough to come lose money to me.”

Dorian fans his cards. “Yes, well, apparently the merchants have decided my goods are as worthy as anyone else’s, and....” His voice peters off, and he frowns. Slowly, he turns his head and glares at Bull, his jaw working hard. After a second, he slams his cards down, hurriedly scooping his coins into his purse, and rushes out.

“What the fuck was that about?” Varric asks.

“Think this one’s on you, Bull,” Cadash says calmly.

Bull follows Dorian out of the tavern. He’s walking fast, not running, so Bull catches him in about five steps, touching his arm. “Dorian, what’s -”

“No!” Dorian doesn’t yell, but his whisper carries. “Do _not_ touch me.”

“What’s wrong?”

Dorian shakes his head helplessly, like he can’t believe Bull’s asking. The sun went down hours ago, but Bull can see the glint of unshed tears in Dorian's eyes. “What’s wrong? What’s _wrong?_ What’s wrong is that this was all your doing, wasn’t it? Kaffas, I’ve been so blind. The merchants, the furniture, the firewood -- all of it.”

“Well, yeah, I guess,” Bull starts to say, shrugging. “What’s the big deal?”

Dorian draws himself up to his full height. “The big deal is that I’m not your _whore._ I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that you thought I could be bought for a few bottles of wine and bundles of sticks, or the fact that I fell for it.”

 _“What?_ No, that's not --”

“Keep your words. I don’t want to hear it.” Dorian turns and stalks off into the night.

Bull stands there for a long time, his mind churning. When it doesn’t clear up, he goes back to the tavern. Krem and his boys call him over, but he waves them off with a grin he doesn’t feel, and heads upstairs.

He digs the maraas-lok out of the trunk and counts to twenty. There’s a knock on his door by fifteen. “C’mon in, Krem.”

“Hate it when you do that, Chief,” Krem says, stepping into the room.

Bull pulls on the flask and offers it. Krem shakes his hand and brandishes a bottle of wine. “Brought my own, thanks. This about the ‘Vint?” He pulls up a chair and straddles it.

Bull takes another drink. “I fucked up, Krem Puff. I fucked up.”

Krem frowns. “What, did you give him corked wine?”

“Tried to help. He’s got nothing, you know that? He didn’t even have wood for his fire. Caught him counting his coins. Just wanted... pulled a few strings, is all.” Bull shrugs. “Level the playing field.”

Krem takes a deep breath. “Didn’t like that, did he?”

The fact that Krem doesn’t seem surprised is making the whole thing seem awful ‘Vinty. “Said he wasn’t a whore.”

Krem presses his lips together and sighs. “Chief, there’s a lot you don’t know about Tevinter.”

“You don’t say.” He takes another drink, coughing a little at the burn.

“Alti are fucked up. Guess when you can buy and sell people like a loaf of bread, they gotta get exotic.” Krem drinks from his own bottle, leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “They’re always angling to get a leg up on each other. Giving each other gifts, that sort of shit. You get in a position where you can’t return a favor....” Krem shrugs. “Then you owe.”

“Fuck,” Bull groans, letting his head roll back to rest on his headboard. It makes sense. It makes a lot of fucking sense, and there’s not a damn thing he could do about it. “Wish I’d known that.”

“Hey,” Krem says defensively, holding up his hands. “If I’d known you were fucking sneaking around to grease his wheels or whatever....”

“Nah, not blaming you.” Bull waves him down. “Shoulda guessed. Shoulda known better. Did know better. Man that proud wouldn’t want the help. I knew it. I knew it and I fucking did it anyway.” Bull growls at himself. “Fuck,” he grunts.

“Chief, you’re, uh...” Krem coughs delicately. “A little more upset than I was expecting.”

Bull groans and wipes at his face. He’s feeling the maraas-lok now. “Yeah. You and me both.”

There’s a long pause. With a sniff, Krem gets up, pats Bull on the shoulder. “Try not to drink so much you bruise a horn or something.”

“Yeah,” Bull nods. “I’m good. Just gonna get some sleep,” he says.

Krem pats his shoulder again and heads out. Bull keeps drinking. He finishes the maraas-lok and follows it up with a bottle of brandy he’d been saving for Dorian.

Fuck, why is he so upset? The guy was a good lay, yeah, but so the fuck what? Lotta people were good in bed. Even if they weren’t, Bull had a way of bringing out the best in people.

The brandy is sweet and sticky. Dorian would’ve loved it. Bull tries not to think about how much he’d been looking forward to giving him that little treat. How the hell the guy managed to get under Bull’s skin, without even trying, is a mystery. Maybe it has something to do with how good it felt to give him what he wanted. How fucking fantastic it was to see the look in his eyes when Bull called him beautiful. _Quam pulchrum es._ How beautiful thou art. It all might’ve been a game to Dorian, but it wasn’t a game for Bull. Or if it was, he lost.

Bull gets drunk, fast, and passes out. Good way to stop thinking, anyhow. When he wakes up, it all goes into a compartment. No point in thinking about it any longer. He messed up, lost a good thing, and now it’s time to move on.

Turns out there’s a lot of other things to think about. Like this “Qunari Alliance”. Red and Cadash fill him in. It sounds bad and smells worse, but he goes where the Boss says, agreeing to take the Chargers to the Storm Coast. She’ll meet him there a few days later, after she and Dorian make a side trip to Redcliffe.

He’s dying to know what’s going on there, but he doesn’t ask.

The Storm Coast is a trap. He can feel it in his bones, but it’s not until he’s watching his boys across the bay, Venatori closing in, that he realizes _he_ was the prey, not the Inquisitor.

Dorian watches the conversation with Gatt and Cadash from a respectful distance, his face impassive. He’s kept his mouth shut the entire time, barely speaking more than a few words the whole mission. He’s standing a few yards behind the Inquisitor as Bull pleads with her to save the Chargers.

Cadash turns away, stalking towards the horn to sound the retreat. Bull catches Dorian's eye, not bothering to hide his relief, or his anguish. What’s the point, after all? Not like Dorian cares, not anymore. Maybe he never did.

The sound of the horn, and the blast from the explosion. A beginning and an end. Or both or neither. Who the fuck knows.

Later that night, the Chargers are gathered around their campfire. Bull stays for a few songs, then heads back to the main camp. It’s quieter, which is a good thing and a bad thing. Bull sinks down in front of his tent, rubbing at his bad knee.

 _Tal-Vashoth._ Thinking the word should feel like something. It doesn’t, just leaves a big empty spot in him. Which means it hasn’t hit him yet, or he already knew it was coming, somewhere in one of those places inside himself he knows not to look. And he’s pretty sure it’s not the first thing. Fuck. Still. He’s got his boys. They need him. And so does the Inquisition. That's something like a purpose right there, one he can be proud of, one he doesn’t have to hide. It doesn’t fill the emptiness, but maybe it will.

From his blind side, Bull senses someone walking up. Dorian, by the smell of spice and faint jingle of buckles. Dorian sinks down next to him, on his good side. He sighs, squinting into the fire. “Do they know? Your men. Do they know what it cost you?”

Bull sniffs. “Didn’t cost me anything I couldn’t afford,” he grunts.

Dorian laughs, a hollow, sharp sound. “I was led to believe you were a talented liar.”

“It’s not --” Bull winces, taking a deep breath. “Doesn’t count as a lie if I want it to be true.” He looks over, half-afraid of what he might see.

He’s not expecting sympathy, nor hope, but he gets both. And then Dorian goes back to looking at the fire.

“What was in Redcliffe?” Bull asks, more to have something to say than out of curiosity.

“My father,” Dorian says.

“What? Why?”

Dorian leans back. “He wanted the same thing he always wants. For me to come home, honor the betrothal I had no say in, live out the rest of my life as a hollow shell, bereft of all I hold dear. He traveled halfway round the world to stand under a gigantic hole in the sky with demons dropping out of it, to insist I come home and get a woman pregnant.”

“That’s, uh, an interesting set of priorities he’s got there,” Bull offers.

“It’s not even the least insane thing he’s done for his personal crusade. I think he figured that with Felix dead and Alexius --” Dorian cuts off his words. “No doubt he thought I would be more malleable. Why bother with blood magic when grief does the work for you?” He plasters on a fake smile. “Also Redcliffe is so pleasant this time of year, I’m sure he couldn’t resist the changing of the leaves.”

Bull laughs, really laughs. “Shit. I’m sorry, Dorian.”

Dorian shrugs, picking at the engraving on his greaves with a fingernail. “It couldn’t be further from your fault.”

“Not all I’m sorry for,” Bull says.

With a sigh, Dorian runs his hand through his hair. “Yes, well. I’m told I acted a bit of an ass.”

“No, I did,” Bull insists. “Shouldn’t’ve gone behind your back. It was wrong.” He doesn’t try to qualify it with excuses.

“You were only trying to help,” Dorian says. “You did help. Enormously. I had no idea how miserable I was until you came along.” He heaves a breath. “Also I got colossally drunk after seeing my father and made a fool of myself in front of Cadash. She, ah, gave me a polite reminder that the way things are in Tevinter is not necessarily the way things work elsewhere. And that being blinkered by my own pride wasn’t helping anyone.”

Bull snorts. “Boss doesn’t pull any punches.”

“No, she does not.”

“Well it makes you feel better, I got drunk and sappy at Krem, so.” Bull shrugs.

Dorian looks up at the sky. The clouds are thin, stars winking through the gaps. “We’re quite a pair, you and I.”

“Are we?” Bull asks. “A pair, I mean.” His stomach feels lighter than it should.

There must be something Dorian is seeing in the stars, because he keeps his gaze trained up. “I used to dream,” he says. “That someone would say the kinds of things that --” He stops, clears his throat, looks away finally. “Not that such things are impossible in Tevinter. But the price is very high, even for the illusion.”

“Wasn’t lying,” Bull insists. “Meant every word.”

Dorian scoffs. “Do you even know what _pulcherrimus_ means, or did you hear Krem say it to a barmaid?”

“The most beautiful,” Bull says at once. “Said I wasn’t lying.” He waits a beat, watching Dorian swallow hard, blinking back something like panic. “And yeah, Krem pulls that on all the girls,” he admits. Dorian laughs in relief.

The night stretches out between them. Bull doesn’t break the moment, waiting for Dorian. “I don’t want to be alone,” Dorian blurts out. “Tonight.” His thumbnail traces the stitching on one sleeve.

Bull’s impressed, and more than a little surprised. Whatever happened in Redcliffe, Dorian’s walls are clearly down. Not that Bull minded their games, but this is kinda nice. “Me neither. Can’t tell if that's good or bad, though.”

“Well, if you do it for me, and I do it for you, then we’re both just being altruistic,” Dorian reasons.

Bull laughs. “They teach you bullshit semantics in fancy ‘Vint college?”

“It was my minor,” Dorian says at once. “Raising the dead, with a minor in bullshit.”

“Well I’m not gonna argue with someone that's smarter than I am,” Bull says.

“I knew I liked you for a reason.”

“You like me, huh?” Bull jostles him with his shoulder.

Dorian rolls his eyes, but it’s to hide his smile. “Oh, that reminds me.” He hops to his feet and trots off. After a moment of fumbling through his saddlebags, he comes back with a small wooden box, which he hands over to Bull, sinking back down at his side. “I got these for you in Redcliffe.”

Bull opens the lid. It’s full of crispy little oat cakes, wrapped in paper. He blinks, staring down at the cookies. “You... got these for me?”

Dorian huffs. “Well you’re always pushing them on me after we -- after. I thought the least I could do was help replenish your supply.”

“You got me a gift?” Bull says, still not quite believing it.

It’s not like he’s never gotten a gift before. The Chargers get him something for Satinalia, and on a randomly selected day every year that they decide is his name day. But this is different. This is a gift from one person, and not because he was obligated, but just because he wanted to. Bull knows how good it feels to give, but this is something new. Something he never got under the Qun, and never would have, either. He’s never been anything but a title, a role -- Hissrad, Iron Bull, Chief. But now he sees how Dorian looks at him. Not for what he does, but who he is: just a guy who likes cookies and bad jokes and good sex. Suddenly that empty place where he should’ve been feeling something is occupied, and not by grief or pain.

He closes the box.

“Aren’t you even going to try one?” Dorian frets.

“Oh yeah. But like you said. After. We can share.” He waits a beat. “Assuming you don’t ruin your appetite first,” he winks.

“Eugh,” Dorian groans. “Come on, let’s get to bed before I take it back.” He scurries behind them, holding the tent flap open.

Bull’s only too happy to follow.

**Author's Note:**

> So it turns out that avoiding working on a big WIP is great incentive to churn out more of this series. Which then turned into this big long thing and long story short (too late) I need to stop poking and just call it a day.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] For the Love of (Pride)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13768461) by [BabelGhoti (TheHandmadeTale)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHandmadeTale/pseuds/BabelGhoti)




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